The Hiddle Riddle
by CinemaSpeak1991
Summary: A simple one-shot of a type of origin story of the Riddler. set before Batman Begins/ TDK about a certain Dr. Edward Nygma Gordon enlists to solve a suspicious trail of killings with cryptic clues. Enjoy!


**The Hidden Riddle**

**A/N: you know the drill, I Don't own anything, etc. I will give you some of the facts: Dr. Edward Nygma and twin should be seen with David Tennant in mind for the character. If you don't know who that person is, look him up. any other non-original characters are played by their respected persons, you know Gordon is Gary Oldman, etc. Enjoy!  
**

_Gotham City, 12:35 am, the Docks, October 30, 1991_

As Detective James Gordon approached the scene, two things were certain:

1) People in this city certainly are depressed

2) He needs a new job.

There on the ground, body like a distorted pretzel, was 25-year-old Meaghan Lee, an Asian American female, and a small pool of blood, almost like a halo, formed around her head. Her face was the most serene of any of the other victims Jim had encountered. If it weren't for the fact that she was in a business suit, he would definitely rule this a suicide. But the fact was, she should in the business district, somewhere near Wayne Towers, near the storage area in Dixon Dock. The place was usually a deserted area, but the recent suicide brought dozens of police officers, journalists, and the usual rubberneckers that tended to linger around such scenes.

This was the 7th suicide this month, and yet, there seemed to be some kind of connection. Forget the fact that each and every one of the apparent "suicides" had almost no ethnical, racial, financial connection to each other, a white, wealthy middle-aged male here, a poor, old woman there, young African-American elsewhere. The only connection, they all went to the same shrink.

The real connection was the fact that there was always a note. The note always arrived exactly 1 hour before the death. It arrived in a regular manila envelope, no return address, marked especially for Commissioner Loeb. Inside was one sheet of paper, with a random series of letters and numbers, some sort of code most likely. This note was no different than the last. Down to the last letter, in fact. That was what most worried Gordon. Every one, since the first showed up on the fifth, was _exactly_ the same.

Sipping his coffee, Gordon walked over to the coroner, his glasses started to slide down his nose, and he absently pushed them up.

"What's going on now, Walker?" the woman called Rena Walker, a 34-year-old with a kind face, looked up from the body. she was the only coroner that Gordon trusted, the only one who would never screw up an autopsy report because someone decided to keep the truth a secret.

"Just the usual, she died from the fall onto the concrete. She probably jumped from atop the metal crate, basic suicide." This is what Jim doubted. How could this pretty woman, with a good job according to the suit, suddenly become so depressed that she jumped from a tall metal crate to her death, miles away from where she would ever go? As Gordon pondered this, an officer was escorting a tall, brown-haired man to the victim's body. Gordon absently waved the officer away, asking the man, "So, maybe you can shed some light on this, Mr.…?"

"Nygma,_ Doctor_ Edward Nygma." This was who Gordon hoped could finally solve this.

Dr. Edward Nygma was around forty years old, and a very highly qualified Psychiatrist and Criminal Profiler, he was sent by the mayor of Gotham especially by request of Loeb. Loeb and Gordon both had the sneaky suspicion that the "suicides" weren't as all as they appeared. Here stood the living proof. One of Dr. Nygma's specialties was being able to recognize codes, and find out whether there might be some kind of sick doctor doing this.

"Detective!" yelled Walker.

Gordon and Dr. Nygma looked down and what the coroner was pointing too. The woman's fingers had pried open the right eyelid of Lee, and what they saw, seemed to be embedded in Gordon's mind forever. Instead of a smooth, glass-like surface of the orb was a large slit formed in the shape of a question mark, and the entire surface was covered in a green film. The slit was done so smoothly, that only a well-qualified surgeon could have done this. That, or a psychopath was on the loose. And that question mark was his calling card.

This was new to Gordon, very new.

* * *

**_A few hours later_**

Gordon jerked awake, and quickly wiped the bit of drool from his chin.

"Rough nap, huh?" said Nygma, handing Gordon a chipped cup of black coffee.

"You were supposed to wake me up, when the notes got here." Nygma's brown eyes softened and a smile, one that did not quite seem sincere broke across his face.

"Well, I'll try to remember next time. Now, how many notes are there? Seven? Maybe means that seven is the lucky number, eh?" his smile widened even more. Taking out the first of the "lucky" notes. He carefully copied every single letter down. As Gordon looked on, he noticed something. Seeing as the notes were handwritten, he saw that Dr. Nygma's writing seemed eerily similar to the note itself. Almost all of the letters looked the same, the blocky "A's", the curly "Z's", and even the "J's". Shaking it away as nerves, Gordon began to wonder, how could a psychiatrist solve something even the force's most experienced detectives and puzzlers couldn't solve.

Sipping the hot coffee, he began to copy down the second note, fresh from the evidence files. _Some guy this is_, thought Gordon, _the sicko can't even give us some decent information other than that stupid question mark. _He was in the middle of writing that first note when Edward exclaimed, "I've got it!"

"What?"

"Look, you need to read it from top to bottom, not left to right. Each line from top to bottom is that particular word. The letters are gibberish, but if you take a single letter, and take the letter _after_ it. Like that 'z' really should be an 'a', or that 'b' is really a 'c'. By doing so, you get the full text of what this man is doing. See, look."

Gordon took the new piece of paper. The writing was almost illegible, what with all of Edward's scribbles of failed tries, and partial successes. But there it was, a full page of what this doctor had done. The months of planning, the hypnosis, everything was there, and Gordon had proof of it. Thanks to Dr. Nygma, of course. His look of joy was almost too large to hide. Looking over at Edward, he noticed something. _Was that…regret? Anger? Impossible, he wants this nut job off the street just as much as I do, right?_

_

* * *

_

Three days.

That's how long it has been since Dr. Edward Nygma, a psychiatrist on loan to the Gotham PD. The news has labeled this as a new type of serial killer on the loose, a person who operates as a phony doctor somewhere in Gotham. Gordon has followed false lead after false lead, and he was beginning to worry he may have a cold case on his hands. On his way to work, he spotted Dr. Nygma walking in the streets.

"Hey, Ed!" he called after the tall man. "Ed? Dr. Nygma?" it was then the man turned, a quizzical look on his face. The faces where the same, but instead of the kind, distant brown eyes, was a pair of equally kind, piercingly blue ones. A worried smile crossed the strange man's face.

"You got the name right, but I'm no doctor. Do I know you?"

"I'm so sorry, I thought you where—"

"My brother right? I'm his twin. I'm Paul, nice to meet you, friend."

_This is interesting_, thought Gordon. _The other Nygma never mentioned he had a brother._ Apologizing one more time, he continued on his way to the GPD headquarters. Entering in the door, he headed for the locker room to put up his things. Putting away his coat, a piece of paper fell to the ground. Opening it up, he saw one little thing, a green question mark. On the back was some senseless words, but Gordon new how to solve it. Going from top to bottom, and moving the letters foreword one, he found out what it said:

In frightened claw,

I'm Death's catspaw.

For if what you see is what you get,

Then death for the man you just met.

But maybe what I see

Is the Doctor it'll be.

Or even the people on the street

On the ground will spill Death's blood heat.

Who I am, you'll never know,

I will strike with Gotham's first snow.

The note stared Gordon in the face, so many possibilities and so little time. This person, whoever he is, is going to strike, and strike soon. The weather report this morning said that snow would be possible on the 7th.

"How can this happen, Gordon, how did you let this HAPPEN!" yelled Commissioner Loeb. As guessed by the entire GPD, and exactly 1 hour and 35 minutes later, a 13-year-old boy, Andrew Lampley, was found dead near Gotham General. He was admitted due to complications from pneumonia, and was found dead, dropped from the roof of the Hospital. Found with one thing in common with the victim from four days ago, the same question mark on the right eye, the same green film. Gordon was stretched to the limit. This case was getting to him, so much so that he asked Dr. Nygma to hypnotize him. It didn't seem to work though. Just as he hoped he would fall asleep, Loeb storms in and yells at him.

Putting his head in his hands, he muttered a small "I don't know. I never know what _will_ happen, or when it will happen." He was reluctant to tell Ed about the note, or the fact that the Doctor was in danger, as the 7th looms nearer still. As he could think of was that body. How some sick, twisted person could kill someone so small, so full of potential. He was so distressed he felt that he could kill himself.

"I don't care what you do, I don't care if you break down every damn door in this city, and you WILL find this person. And soon, I wouldn't want you to lose your job over this, but so help me, if you don't close this case soon, you may very well have to start searching the want ads."

Understanding just what Loeb needs, he gets up, and leaves, off to the evidence room to continue his search.

Walking down the long hallway, he began to think. He thought of what Gotham was once like: clean, pure, safe. Now, now he wasn't so sure. This person that was roaming the streets made it seem like Gotham was taking a turn for the worse. The crime rate was rising, the mortality rate also. Couple that with a lessening economy, and you have more dealers, more hookers, and more people beating there loved ones, blaming them for the job loss, the debt, and the failure. Turning left, he entered the evidence room and saw an unfamiliar sight.

Dr. Edward Nygma was looking. He was looking at every single death, the suspected suicides that now are homicides. While Gordon could see him, Nygma couldn't see Gordon. Lucky for Gordon, for if Nygma new what Jim saw, Jim would be dead. Nygma was shaking, the pictures formed into the shape of a question mark. Nygma didn't quake, not exactly, he was _laughing_. This silent laughter shocked and disturbed Gordon to the bone. He knew that what he had to do was crazy, even for him. He had to build this case.

"Hey Ed, are, are you okay?"

* * *

**_December 10, 1991._**

The Door burst open, and the fine officers in blue burst into the room, Detective James Gordon bringing up the rear. Inside, the small apartment was in a state of chaos. Letters were all over the room, in chairs, on the floor, inside the books. In the living room, the fireplace was blazing a strange green fire, the other papers thrown haphazardly in the glowing light.

Lowering his gun, Gordon searched the small room. Everywhere there was the mark of the Riddler. The walls were covered in the green question marks, some drawn large, some small. These marks Gordon had no care for; he had known about the Riddler and his "calling card" for three weeks. Rubbing his eyes, he saw the carnage on the ground before him.

"Here Lies Dr. E. Nygma" said the crudely written marks scrawled across the dusty wood floor. The Doctor was dead, a bullet shot through his temple, the gun not farther away. His shirt was ripped off his body, and the question mark was drawn across the chest, cut savagely with a type of hunting knife.

A sudden relief had washed over Gordon. He knew that the real man who killed all those people was finally dead. Staring out the window, he saw Gotham's first snow begin to fall. Gordon remembered what had happened to solidify Edward's true calling…

_"Hey Ed, can we talk?" spoke Gordon to the tall, lanky man whom he had come to know over the past week and a half._

_ "Of Course…"_

_ "In here, please." Gordon gestured to one of the interrogation rooms, usually reserved for criminals. Ushering the man inside, Gordon closed the door, a slight nod toward the mirror, noting that Loeb was watching. This did not go unnoticed by Nygma, who proceeded to get a little flushed._

_ "Can I ask why the special treatment, Jim?"_

_ "I'm going to get right to the chase. Do you have a brother?"_

_ "Yes, I do but what does that…?"_

_ "Do you ever wish him dead? For any reason? He, have something that you don't?"_

_ "What are you talking about…?" _

_ "Is there any reason you may want to take out your anger on the people of Gotham?"_

_ "I don't like how this is going. Don't tell me you…" the realization of this "talk" hit him. "What the HELL is wrong with you? I have been working with the police for two weeks. And now you have the, the nerve to interrogate me, like some common _criminal,_ so that you can find a, a scapegoat!" Edward began to rise in anger._

_ "Don't you yell at me! I've been working my ASS off and you have been slinking around, like a shadow, and staring at those crime scene photos! I SAW you laughing at those people, like you _enjoy_ the death of others! How did you kill them? Hypnosis? Threats? Or did you push those people off those high-rises? Damn it Ed!"_

_ Dr. Edward Nygma said nothing. He glared at Gordon, for what seemed like an eternity. Then he got up, and left. _

Gordon knew that at that time, Dr. Edward Nygma had killed those people. And now he was dead. Only Gordon could hope.

* * *

_**Gotham General Hospital, 11:59 pm.**_

The sound of a baby crying filled the small hospital bed. The middle-aged woman, older than she looked, her labored breathing coming in gasps, collapsed back onto the hospital bed. The doctors knew this might happen. The woman's heart was not the strongest of the bunch, that's for sure. To tired to speak, she opened her arms for the infant, whom the doctors gladly gave up to her. They knew the woman wouldn't survive the night. One went off to call the woman's husband, Edward Nygma.

As the mother settled the little girl in her arms, the baby's eyes opened, and two piercingly blue eyes stared up at the woman. She held the baby close to her face, breathing in the scent of her newborn child. She Whispered the child's name, "Rebecca", and stared at the child with loving, tender, and exhausted eyes. With that last image, Ellen Nygma, wife of Edward, and sister-in-law of Paul, quietly passed away.

* * *

The sound of two thumping bodies hitting floorboards would have been heard, if there had been anybody around to hear it, exempting the two police officers, but they were dead. A tall, lanky man with messy brown hair and kind-looking brown eyes stepped into crime scene. Taking the papers and shoving them in a briefcase, the man began to leave. Just before, taking in one last look at his fallen comrade, he grinned.

"Thank you, Brother."


End file.
